Always Find Me Here
by ElocinMuse
Summary: Tragedy and redemption often go hand in hand. Post-Purgatory, post-everything that's happened. Megstiel, but focuses on the amends between the Winchesters and Castiel. All that's gone unsaid for too long. A tentative peace is shattered when an old enemy claws his way up from the depths of the past to destroy everything. It's up to the brothers to put the pieces back together.
1. Always Find Me Here

**Author's Note:** This is your average song/lyrical prompt fic. Except for the part when I planned it first and then chose the song based on what I was listening to when I wrote it. The lyrics are included in the fic, but I wrote everything specifically in tune to the simple instrumental version. Both are beautiful, but the instrumental REALLY sets that haunting, emotional feel I was looking for. You get to be the judge if I succeeded or not. Song is "Always Find Me Here" by Transit.

For the instrumental version, type in youtube's regular url, and add this to the end: watch?v=0ncRkKKr2W4

For the lyrical version, do the same, but with this one: watch?v=uMVaVKrRwvY

* * *

**ALWAYS FIND ME HERE**

* * *

Purgatory was worse than either of them, than Sam, could have predicted or imagined. It was sorrow and constant war, every moment spent fighting to the death or running for your life. It was personal demons and dark deeds brought to light. It was every vile soul demanding their suffering and making them pay. Too often did he consider abandoning what little fortitude he had left, falling into the inky blackness of Purgatory's ill-omened woods. He wanted to give up, wanted to let whatever monsters beyond the ridgeline just have him and be done. The longer they were trapped, the more desolate he became. Courage was the first die, faith the second.

In the end, it had been Meg.

Meg broke out of Hell. She broke out and saved them, but at a terrible cost.

No one would notice the danger lying dormant until it struck.

* * *

_hold you close  
don't let go_

* * *

Castiel wakes to butterfly kisses on his eyelids and teeth marks on his ear, to hands tracing his jawline and fingernails dragging across his chest. He wakes to skin pressed against his and a weight trapping his body. Castiel wakes and Meg is waking with him. This is new.

"How were the nightmares this time?"

_Wretched_, he wants to answer. This is why he despises sleep. But after grueling battles, it is regrettably necessary to indulge. Meg has been surprisingly supportive, almost sweet, helping him through the aftermath of his time spent in Purgatory. He's not sure what to think of her kindness. Even while he feels like a shadow trapped between shafts of light, splintered as a mast in a storm, there is a part of him that settles. Castiel rumbles a reply, whatever he says not really mattering so much as he has someone who listens to him.

Something has broken between them, a barrier made of glass—he never saw it until the shards are piercing his skin. She's dug her way under his flesh and isn't going away. Stranger still, he doesn't want her to go away.

So when she nips along his collarbone, husky laughter dancing across skin, asking, "am I kicked out of your life yet," he's puzzled.

"Why would I want you to leave? I like having you with me." He captures a lock of her hair in his fingers, playing with it idly. The gesture speaks of candid affection, and that's something _she_ can't quite understand. "You aren't alone anymore, Meg. You never will be again. These sheets, they're ours now."

The angel's fascination with her hair both amuses her and endears him to her—not that she'd ever say so without screws being driven into all of her fingers. "Why does everything you say to me sound like it's ripped right out of a sappy romance novel?"

There's a sideways smile on his face, something she suspects is at her expense. "Because it irks you."

Meg grunts her annoyance and wallops him, muttering about no good angels and how all they're good for is pillow stuffing. She anticipates another disapproving look, maybe even a few blown-out lights and cracks in the windows if she gets far enough under his skin to rouse his true form, but she definitely doesn't see coming what Castiel does next.

His hands reach to cup her face tenderly, and his lips brush against hers in a fleeting way. "Thank you."

Meg squirms a little, gaze darting away from his self-consciously. He doesn't object when she crawls over him and lays her head on his chest. It's more to hide from the piercing quality of his knowing eyes than anything else, and he understands that. "We do what we must," she says. "Devil take the hindmost."

"You didn't have to stay with me. You didn't have to rescue me." She doesn't have to be here _now_, but she is.

"Yeah, yeah. You owe me, featherbrain."

Castiel is not second in command, he is not learning. He is a weapon, a warrior. Everything that he was made to be. For awhile, he'd stumbled, but now he is back on his path. A little more morose, but ready to fight the good fight. It is thanks to one person.

They take jobs together, work as a team. When the brothers call one of them, the other is not far behind. They are a package deal. The Winchesters don't have a lot to say about it—or they do, but keep it to themselves. They haven't tried to kill her yet, and that's good enough for Castiel.

When they aren't vanquishing evil, when Meg isn't soothing or demanding the nightmares away, there are moments. Fleeting, intrinsic little things. Once, after a battle, Meg dragged him to a diner and bought him a milkshake. Her hearty laughter had filled the establishment at his almost comical enthusiasm of the new taste. Sometimes he'll take her to a meadow, or even once a cave behind a waterfall, to unwind. Sometimes she'll go kicking and swearing, sometimes she's the one asking him to take her away.

Sometimes her nails rake into his back, sometimes her fingers cradle his face. Sometimes he's slamming her into walls, sometimes he's the one catching her. When they need to forget, there is either violence or the most tender form of affection. It's whispered like a secret they can never tell.

Their relationship, just as their warring species, is a tangled cacophony of light and darkness. There is camaraderie, there is friendship, there is loyalty. He nearly kills her a dozen times, she nearly kills him a dozen more. They take turns saving each other, on the battlefield and off. She makes fun of him for his naivety and awkwardness, he rebukes her for what she is and the twistedness of her nature.

But more than that, the crushing guilt of their past crimes begins to ebb. When they are together, fighting or keeping each other alive, they can breathe. The nagging devastation at what can never be forgiven washes out, leaving a wholesomeness and the promise of restoration. Of redemption.

They sit on benches in parks, talking about the world, and neither of them feel alone anymore.

* * *

_eyes so strange  
time goes by  
watch you fall, again_

_hold you close  
don't let go  
hear my call, afraid_

* * *

Then, months after their escape, out of nowhere, Meg pulls a knife and goes after Dean. What had been most surprising about it had been the stealth, the covert precision. The _patience_. It wasn't just Meg losing her cool and exercising her temper on a convenient Winchester out of spite. It was methodical, planned out. _Wrong_.

It was Castiel who intervened.

So long spent convincing the brothers of her allegiance, of her placidity, and it was some sort of tragic poetry that he be the one to stop her.

The angel has the demon by the throat in seconds, Dean sputtering obscenities behind him, Sam yelling the collective distress of the group. When the struggling captor turns the knife then on Castiel, they know something is definitely amiss. He catches her armed fist, staying the weapon before it can do anyone any more damage.

"Meg, enough!" he commands in that rough voice, tinged with confusion and alarm. There is concern in his eyes and nothing but hate in hers.

"I would have had him," growls Meg, in a voice not her own. It is guttural and a twisted perversion of her smoky drawl. "Stupid celestial, he would have been _mine_."

There is a chorus of horrified recognition at the sudden yellowy glare burning into them all like a branding iron.

"Yellow Eyes," Sam utters, breathless.

"Azazel," snarls Dean, taking a ruthless step forward.

"The two of you leave. _Now_," Castiel orders them both, never taking his eyes from the possessed demon in his grasp.

"Like hell!"

"Sammy, go to the car—get the Colt! Where the hell are the salt rounds?!"

But this new Azazel is too dangerous. He has spent the equivalent of a millennia in Purgatory, stripped raw of whatever little humanity he once retained. He is now a monster, through and through. Once an angel, then a demon, now he is just pure corruption. Somehow, he had stowed away inside of her on the trip back to Earth. The _how_ doesn't matter—there is only one thing that matters.

Jaw clenching, Castiel's eyes dart back, thoughts racing. He has to keep them safe.

_And you can save her_, that small voice in the back of his head whispers, like it's some desperate prayer he's clinging to.

Without further hesitation, Castiel disappears them both, leaving the cursing Winchesters screaming at the sky in frustration.

During flight, his grip around her throat has somehow loosened and he and Meg tumble to the ground in a rolling heap. He's back on his feet quickly, reaching for an absent sword.

He'd given it to Meg.

Biting back a curse of his own, Castiel stares at the ancient evil possessing the thing he's in love with. "Meg."

"She can't hear you." Azazel advances her body towards the angel, teeth baring. When it attacks him, he tries to pull his punches, but if he does, Azazel will overpower him. He must be just as ruthless.

They fight in a brutal tandem across the forest floor he's transported them to. Fists smash through tree trunks, narrowly missing faces, spraying splinters and debris. Bodies are hurled against boulders, against trees, across clearings.

Castiel feels something in his chest wrench when the snap of her bones echo beneath his hands. Her feral smile is unbefitting on her apple face. It was sharp when she wanted it to be, but never like this. "Meg!"

"Keep trying, handsome. I like feeling her squirm," Azazel says, manipulating her voice. He leaves a bloody gash down Castiel's face with the knife, tearing then at the angel's back with mental claws, straight into his grace.

Castiel twists and yells, rolling away. Pure light leaks through the wound, but he heals it quickly. It will weaken him until he can properly mend, but he must manage without full restoration. It is a small miracle that she didn't have the angel blade on her when the stronger demon took over. He catches her charging body and they tumble down a small ravine into a decrepit hollow.

Meg's stolen form pins him down with a vicious slam into the rocks, hovering over him with menacing triumph. Castiel holds her back, gripping her arms hard enough to bruise and fracture bone. "Meg, look at me."

Azazel laughs, bane twisting the sound until it's no longer recognizable. "She's my child, angel. You're wasting your time."

Castiel ignores the voice, staring instead into the eyes he knows are struggling beneath the yellow. "I won't abandon you, Meg. _Meg_. I'm _here_. I know who you are. You never gave up on me." He speaks, with such raw conviction, that the silence of the forest amplifies in the most profound way. "And I will never give up on you. You are the reason I'm still here, after everything."

For a hanging moment, a breath in time, brown like melted chocolate overtakes the yellow perversion, staring back at him with aching dependency. Seconds tick by, though not many. But it's enough. Castiel seizes the opportunity, quickly disarming her and breaking free.

Meg is tossed aside, skidding in the dirt. Castiel is already on his feet, knife in hand—for what little good it will do. Only one thing does he possess that can destroy Azazel.

"Cas," her voice chokes out.

Castiel feels the breath rush out of him, every nerve on fire. Meg writhes for a moment on the ground, keening a low groan and something that sounds almost like a sob. He's frozen in place, not daring to move. He watches as she stumbles to her feet, dark eyes lifting and boring into his pleadingly.

"_Cas_."

"Meg." He rushes to her, dropping the knife, catching her around the waist as she falls. He holds her to himself tightly, blue eyes darting over her body and face. "Where is he?"

Her fingers clutch at the folds of his trenchcoat like it's a lifeline. A shudder runs through her. Meg exhales sharply, around a failing gasp. "_Dammit_…"

He lowers them to the ground until he's on his knees and she is spread across his lap, in his arms. "I've got you. It's all right."

"No, I can't… he's not letting go, Cas," Meg anguishes, squirming. She wires her eyes shut, sweat beaded on her brow. It takes all her strength to keep him back, and it won't be enough.

Castiel stares down at her, helpless. His lips work soundlessly for a moment, until words come out. "I don't know how to remove him without… Meg…"

Her eyes glaze over a bit, and the tension in her small body eases some. Her muscles relax, but there's a quiver of anxiety, of strain, skating over her skin. "I've got him, for the moment," she sighs out, suddenly spent and very drained. Her eyelids flutter. "It's okay. Sorry I checked out on you back there, baby." Meg laughs bitterly. They're both wearing the others' blood. "Don't think there'll be any makeup sex this time, though."

A muscle tightens in his jaw. "How long?"

"Not long."

Castiel's features set stubbornly. "I will figure out something."

The demon groans, weak and resigned. "Life sucks, and then you die. It is what it is."

The words are spilling out before he can stop them. "I need you to stay with me."

Meg looks at him like she so badly wishes she could make him smile right then. "That's not how it's gonna work out this time, feathers."

Azazel is too dangerous, and he was bound to Meg's body. There isn't enough time.

There is not enough _time_.

"We had a good run, Castiel."

A vice closes around his heart; there is pain he can't account for. "You never call me that."

Meg smiles a little, but there is no happiness to it. "Decided I was due for a change. What the hell, right?" She curls tighter, groaning until it becomes a whimper. Another shudder arcs through her. She's shaking, and he's too powerful for her. A wisp of trepidation runs down her spine, and the very human reaction startles her. "Cas?" she whispers, huddled against him.

He doesn't dare look at her, afraid of seeing that small spark of fear in her eyes. "Yes?"

Meg's voice has become small, quick—like she's running out of time and she knows it. "If I could have ever… it would have been with you."

"I know." The words lodge in his throat. Castiel has trouble breathing. He is an angel. He shouldn't have to struggle with such a trivial function.

_Please._

"You found me when nobody else was looking. Poor dumb bastard," Meg whispers.

_No. _

"Tell the tweedle dumbasses I said _sianara_, huh? It was a pleasure terrorizing them."

_No._

"Whatever you wish."

He cannot meet her eyes and never will again.

"Talk to me?"

His throat feels tight, and his eyes and face become hot. His vision as he stares out across the forest is blurry, but outwardly, Castiel forces himself to remain perfectly calm. "What would you like me to say?"

"Never mind. I'll talk."

He listens when she tells him about the last few years. How she broke him out of Purgatory. How worried she was about him during that time, and how scared she was to admit it. She tells him about when she was a human, about her brothers and sisters. About her mother. There is wistful nostalgia with every word confessed. Then she tells him how her feelings for him have evolved over the years, from seething hatred to what it is now.

Her host body can't handle the exertion of so many inhabitants for much longer. Unbidden, Castiel slowly wipes the tears from her face as he watches the trees, cradling her precious weight against himself. His hand grazes her forehead in a gentle caress as she retells the story of him dragging her around Creation to watch the bees. How he has changed her. How he gave her back something she never thought she'd have again. Her voice becomes fainter, the tremors rising.

"Cas, thank you. I lo—"

There is a soft flash of light that illuminates the shadow of the forest, formed by the canopy of treetops above their heads. Castiel's hand slips from her forehead as peaceful death washes over the demon in his arms.

He hasn't realized the moment he'd started shaking too. Perhaps around the time he had to burn out her soul with his own grace. Castiel stares stonily, inconsolably, straight ahead. There is a fierce determination in his chest and he doesn't know where it belongs or what it's for. He has no idea what to do with it. A veil of numbness has settled over him, and, with unsteady fingers, he grips her tighter. Every cell and membrane of his body, every fiber of his still present grace roils with the guilt. His jaw is trembling, but he keeps it firmly locked out of sheer desperation. Staring ahead, eyes unblinking and his body otherwise as unmoving as a statue, Castiel listens to the deafening silence around him. His expression contorts as a flood of grief assails him.

Indescribable pain tears into him, leaving him gutted and raw. He tries to imagine her telling him to pull himself together, but there is no warmth, no pithy teasing words, no heat from her skin or the inciting stroke of fingers up and down his chest. There is… nothing. Just the void where she should be, and will never be again.

Her body is lying cold in his arms. Not even her body. Pieces of his heart shift like fine dust in his chest, inadequate. There is a hopelessness he hasn't felt in a long time, back at the forefront of his mind.

Blue eyes, unbeknownst to the angel, are brimming with tears.

His breath rasps raggedly from between his lips and his stomach churns, body shuddering with anguish. Castiel squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his face against her hair as the tears roll silently down his cheeks. Hours go by, but he doesn't notice. He holds her limp body closer, desperately wishing she would move, that she would laugh and tell him it was all just some elaborate joke.

The storm that has been raging in his darkening eyes breaks loose and the flood gates open to the torrent of alien emotion pouring out of him as Castiel begins to sob.

He stays like this for a long time, knelt on the ground and bowed around her, honestly feeling like his world is crashing down. He guards her body in silent vigil, until he's certain he can stand on his own two feet. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to again.

The angel grieves and grieves and doesn't move until the first fires of dawn erupt on the horizon.

He doesn't want to be alone.

* * *

_hold you close  
don't let go  
hear my call, afraid_

_I don't want to be the one, this time_

_and I'll say grace for where you are  
I want you to know  
you will always find me here_

* * *

The brothers startle when the angel appears in a quiet rustle of wings the next morning. They shoot to their feet, concern and anxiety meshing into a chaotic tangle of emotion. They look at him and see the utter lack of life. Castiel tosses the knife onto the dirt at their feet; it's the only reason he's returned.

"Azazel?" Sam hesitantly asks.

"He is dead."

Dean is watching the angel with increasing worry. That Meg is not with him is disconcertingly obvious. And with the way their friend looks, there's no mistaking what's happened. "Cas…"

"_Don't_," he says, in a voice full of broken glass. For a second, there is overwhelming pain in the angel's expression, barely checked. Castiel almost visibly bows under the weight of it. He wishes to rid himself of the evidence of his heartbreak, his utter failure. "Don't."

Just as soon as he'd arrived, Castiel is once again gone with hardly a sound.

* * *

_days go by  
lost in time  
night time calls, again_

* * *

Dean waits a day before the combination of impatience and concern finally compels him into action. He sends up an awkward prayer to the angel, wherever he is, and waits. It's almost an hour before Castiel finally shows.

"What do you want?" that familiar voice gruffs from behind him.

Dean turns around, taking in the rumpled sight. "Hey, man," he says quietly, just as gruff. "How're you doing?" Castiel answers with his usual silence and Dean sighs. "You gotta help me out here, Cas. You know I suck at these heart-to-hearts."

"Is there a point to this meeting?"

"Yeah, there is. Sam and I were worried how you left yesterday and we wanted to make sure you were okay. So, you know…" The hunter gestures helplessly, at a loss. "If there's anything you need to talk through, or whatever."

Castiel's eyes narrow. "She saved me and now she's dead. What else is there to say?" It's no less than he deserves, he thinks, for his sins. He should have stayed in Purgatory. He should have stayed dead. Why could he never stay dead?

The hunter's demeanor softens, expression molding piteously. "You're grieving, Cas. It's okay."

Castiel's features harden into sharp lines and harsh shadows in the low light. He turns his face away, not able to meet Dean's eyes any longer. "What's the point in grieving when it doesn't bring anyone back?"

Hard to argue with that; Dean understands this all too well. "I don't know, man."

In a rare moment of candor, Castiel's grim resolve to keep all emotion to himself ultimately wavers. He lets his head hang, his mask falling away. "I don't have anybody," he says, almost silently to himself. "Meg… she was all I had."

Dean frowns, closing the cavernous gap between them. "What about us?"

Castiel lifts his head, eyes meeting the other man's sharply. Voice flat. "We're not friends, Dean. You've made that abundantly clear. Meg was there, through everything. Even when I didn't want her to be. Now, there is nothing. I have no one. I have… _no one_," Castiel says fiercely, full of venom at himself, and his eyes are now blue-black and with terrible anger. With such suffering. It holds more authority than the angel has used in a long time, and so much more pain. "I know whose fault that is, but it doesn't change anything. So don't presume to understand what that's like. You will always have Sam. Even when you are at each other's throats, when you leave the other behind, when one or both of you is dead. You will _always_ have your brother."

There is desperation and loss curling around him like smoke, his voice finally hitching. His vessel's throat tightens, jaw clenching back emotions tangled in a dark knot, pulsing with an anger and a grief that rises like an encroaching flood. He'd rebelled for the hope of a better world, and all that was left, all that he feels, is despair.

Stop, he just wants it all to stop.

"She was my Sam."

Because he needs Dean to understand this. The roughness of his throat startles him though, makes him realize how long it's been since he'd last spoken, and the heavy silence took over. Castiel misses her.

He _misses_ her.

Sometimes they slept together. Sometimes they fought. Sometimes they drove each other crazy. There were times he'd wanted to throttle the life out of her, and then there were moments he wanted to keep her safe from everything, most of all herself. He swore to her once that he would never let anything happen to her. He was the stronger one, he would be the protector.

Meg no longer needs his protection. Castiel still wishes desperately that she were here so he could give it.

Dean is already deflating, and sadness becomes plain across his face. He wants to say he's sorry, because he is, but voicing it aloud will somehow make it inadequate. Instead, he waits in the silence to see if the angel will say anything more. When he doesn't, Dean knows the conversation is over. "Can we call you?"

Castiel drops his eyes, his shoulders, his heart. In a low voice, subdued, he says, "If you need me, I'll come."

Dean stands there, watching the wall where the angel had been just moments ago. His own shoulders slump in defeat.

* * *

_days go by  
lost in time  
night time calls, again_

_I'm here  
I'm here without you  
you'll always find me here_

* * *

It's almost a month later when the Winchesters finally call. With halfhearted resignation, Castiel answers, appearing in the old rundown cabin they've called him to. Upon arrival, his brow quirks warily… there is something eerily familiar about this place.

Instead of dwelling on the sense of déjà vu eating at him, Castiel acknowledges the brothers with tired eyes. "What do you need?"

He's been roaming the earth, with no destination or purpose in mind. He's been aimless, lonely. Scattering Meg's ashes had taken more strength than he currently had in his arsenal. He should feel relief that they've called, but that sense of isolation seems to only amplify at the Winchesters' presence.

"Hey, Cas," greets Sam. There is something in his eyes, in his voice. Something suspiciously close to regret.

Castiel looks to Dean for clarification, but the hunter is a portrait of grim resolve. A match strikes, firelight licking suddenly at the air. Castiel watches numbly as it's cast at the floorboards, where, upon contact, there is a stronger eruption of flames. The angel feels his stomach drop like a stone when he's quickly engulfed in a ring of fire. There is a sense of blind panic that jolts through him—_no, no, no. Not again. Why are they doing this? What have I done? What have I done now? Please, no…_

"What is this?" Castiel's voice catches tremulously over the words, despite any effort to remain stoic, or, at the very least, offended. Not this fear and dread he feels, because this is the cabin. _The_ cabin—where this has happened once before. Where he'd lost everything. A moment which lead to four words that changed everything forever—_I have no family_. Castiel's true form squirms inside his vessel with dismay. _Please. Please, don't do this again._ His heart twists viciously. "Let me go."

"Can't do that," says Sam softly. "You'll just fly off."

"Another interrogation?" Castiel menaces, but there is buried pain, rekindled, in every nuance of his expression that refuses to be masked. It's hard to keep the rolling storm inside of him constrained. His guilt, old and new, has by no means abated, and now he's forced to relive a very corporeal reminder of _the past_. His eyes narrow in a despairing grimace. They see the lost hope and anger warring there.

"No," Dean tells him. At first hearing, the tone sounds flat, but when Castiel looks at him sharply, there is profound compassion in the hunter's eyes.

Sam steps forward, speaking earnestly. "This is us, saying now what we should have said then."

Castiel stares between the two of them, hovering restlessly in place. There's a sobering weight in the air now, making it thick and difficult to breathe properly. The wall of flames seems unbearably close, the heat wrapping around his skin like chains. If human eyes could behold his true form, they would see his wings fidgeting at his back, curling around himself defensively. He's anxious, because this can't be good. When is it ever good?

"Cas." Dean looks at him meaningfully, mirroring his brother's heartfelt expression. The sincerity of this unprecedented mercy completely blindsides the angel. The hunter hesitates, taking a moment, before he utters the most powerful words Castiel has ever heard. "You are not alone."

Castiel raises his head, breath frozen for a moment in a silent gasp. Shock pools in his worn features, and, as Dean's words register in his mind, one by one, it feels as if the air has been completely sucked out of the room. The angel doesn't move, lets the words sink in, as if being completely still will make them real. Has his grief prompted hallucinations now as well?

The brothers don't stop talking, though.

_You are not alone._

"No matter what you do."

"Good, bad, stupid."

They're talking over each other now, flooding him with words and sentiments before he can speak.

"God knows we've both done it all."

"You're a part of this family."

"We're not leaving you."

"We're not casting you out."

"We're not abandoning you."

Castiel stares at them in a sort of subdued, disquieted apprehension. He has no idea what to make of this generosity. Unprecedented, and undeserved. Overwhelmed, he stays quiet for a long time. What has inspired this? Why the sudden change? The sudden _acceptance_?

"I broke your wall," Cas whispers in a small voice, gaze retreated to the floor. The wounds he's caused to each of them personally were tremendous, overwhelming and unforgiveable.

"I stabbed you in the back," Sam replies, not missing a beat.

"We left you in this ring of fire."

"We left you in that reservoir when the leviathans broke free."

"Never again."

"Never again."

"We all have something to atone for."

"You're _our_ angel."

"You've done everything for us. _Everything_."

"You gave your life, multiple times. You lost your grace, your sanity. You sacrificed everything you knew, all of it, for us. Heaven, faith, your family."

"Let us do something for you."

"Let us help."

"We're _here_."

"You're not alone."

"You're not alone, Cas."

He feels the scars on his heart anew, realizing there has always been a tiny part of him that had hoped for absolution, for penance. He could never ask, would never, because it's too big—but perhaps he doesn't have to ask. Castiel doesn't realize he's crying until he feels a wetness land on the toe of his shoe. He holds his breath, breath that tries to hitch into something like a sob, but he beats it back by sheer will. Eyes shining, he tells them, with a tearful break in his voice, "I'm sorry."

He says this as if it's the most important thing he's ever told anyone. His voice is a damaged sound, defeated, small and brimming with emotion and regret and so much _guilt_. A strange mixture of longing and shame folds around him like a cloud; he wants to belong again. Dean and Sam are looking at him like it's their fault, like they mean every word and they want to make everything better and right. It takes his breath away, and, for a frightening moment, he doesn't even know up from down.

"So are we."

Castiel stares at the droplets of light on the ground, puzzled and mystified. "I don't understand," the angel murmurs. It isn't a blinding light, just a soft shimmer that seems to shift and flow beneath his skin as if it were alive. It leaks out of his blue eyes, falling in time with the tears, dissipating into the air.

"It's okay. Humans cry all the time." He can hear the smile in Dean's voice. "Angels just do it a little differently, I guess."

Castiel hadn't noticed the phenomenon when he'd wept over Meg. As it did now, it had been his true form bleeding through, roused by the powerful deluge of pure, divine emotion. Never has such an event arisen before. It is a miracle.

At some point in time, the brothers must have come forward, because Dean is pouring a bag of salt over a section of fire, breaking the connection. The flames wither down without their holy completion, freeing the angel of the circle. Dean steps up to him, Sam just behind.

Castiel never once lifts his head, leaving it bowed in a manner that could almost be construed as prayer.

Sam is first at his side, speaking low and gentle. "Castiel?"

"I don't understand what this means."

"That means he forgives you," he explains softly.

Dean waits until the angel lifts his head, shame and guilt warring with the flecks of hope in the sad, familiar blue eyes. "You don't have to be sorry anymore. We forgive you. I forgive you."

"Come home," says Sam.

The aching in his chest crests to an incredible height, his defenses plummet, and Castiel is torn between sobbing on his knees and fighting off the beaming smile of relief that tries to break free. He settles for nodding his head; squaring his shoulders and standing up tall. He clears his throat. "Shall we drive, or will I be taking you there?" the angel gruffs, with that same solemn tone that has always accompanied his void expression. But there is a light in his eyes now, a twitch of the lips.

Dean quashes his amusement at that grave serious way of speech that makes him wonder if Cas ever says anything he doesn't mean, heart and soul. "Unless you can zap Baby back to Rufus's cabin along with our sorry asses, we're hittin' the asphalt, wingman."

The men take turns clapping the angel on the back with stirrings of real enthusiasm.

"Think you can handle a boring old road trip?"

Castiel looks at both brothers, _his_ brothers, and smiles. "I believe I can."

* * *

_days go by  
lost in time  
night time calls, again_

* * *

That dead clearing in the forest, home to a moment of incredible grief, thrived now with new life. Sunlight streamed through the canopy, bathing the forest floor in golden light from which flowers sprung up, once extinct for thousands of years. The grass was so green, so vibrant. Lush vegetation spread through the hollow, covering the rocks in a blanket of moss. Brittle trees were made strong again, trunks swelling, branches stretching for the sky. The leaves shimmered in the light, fresh dew catching the kiss of sun.

All life bloomed from the presence of Earth's rarest tear, where a stream of perfectly unpolluted river water now flowed, babbling crystal clear. An angel's true form had been loosed in its midst, exposing it to the replenishing light of Creation. A powerful, timeless event.

Broken life was mended where angel and demon had fought. The memory of that great loss was forgotten, in its place a memorial raised. A symbol of goodness in the place of sacrifice.

* * *

_and I'll say grace for where you are  
I want you to know  
you will always find me here_

* * *

**Author's Note:** I actually legitly started crying whilst writing this. Don't usually have that happen. Then again, it was that time of the month for me. Leave your opinions and mockery in the box below, people. Sound off!


	2. Aeternae

**Author's Note: **So this was done as a challenge for Megstiel week on tumblr (I have a few other things I'm doing as well - some of which will be art and other special projects. My username there is elocin-muse). Well, that's sort of a lie. This song came on my shuffle and I started dreaming up scenes and blips and snippets of pre-series Megstiel meeting. And then I tacked it on to my Megstiel week projects. So there.

I always thought that during Cas and Meg's first canon meeting on the show - it felt like there was MORE. Not just the obvious UST or the basic angel versus demon rivalry. But I was picking up on subtext (that of course wasn't actually there) and reading between the lines. It felt like there was a familiarity between them. I mean, this is one of the first times Cas is ever deliberately SNARKY.

I don't know. Anyways, I'm rambling.

Wrote this in a way that weaved it into a companion piece for Always Find Me Here. After a first few drafts, I piled on even more AFMH bits. When I first started out, AFMH was just alluded to here and there. But now... now look at what I've done.

I promised my tumblr followers that this wouldn't make you cry though. So, if you do, leave me a flame or two and I'll accept them graciously like the responsible adult I am.

Song prompt for this one is _Sarabande Suite (Aeternae)_ by Globus.

_**Bold/Italic**_ - Lyrics

_Italic_ - Flashforwards to AFMH

* * *

_**Es tu libre? (Are you free?)  
Vraiment libre? (Are you really free?)  
As bien de Aeternae (As well eternity)  
Penser… (Think…)**_

_**Est-il phantome? (Is it a ghost?)  
Qui habite (Who is living)  
Approcher de Aeternae (Approaching eternal life)  
Bien se calmer (Just be calm)**_

_Purgatory was sorrow and constant war, every moment spent fighting to the death or running for your life. It was personal demons and dark deeds brought to light. It was every vile soul demanding their suffering and making them pay. Too often did he consider abandoning what little fortitude he had left, falling into the inky blackness of Purgatory's ill-omened woods. He wanted to give in, wanted to let whatever monsters beyond the ridge line just have him and be done. The longer they were trapped, the more desolate he became. Courage was the first to die, faith the second. _

_In the end, it had been her. _

_She broke out of Hell. She saved him, but at a terrible cost. _

_He wakes to butterfly kisses on his eyelids and teeth marks on his ear, to hands tracing his jawline and fingernails dragging across his chest. He wakes to skin pressed against his and a weight trapping his body. He wakes, and she is waking with him. _

_Even while he feels like a shadow trapped between shafts of light, splintered as a mast in a storm, there is a part of him that settles. _

_Something has broken between them, a barrier made of glass—never seen until the shards are piercing his skin. She's dug her way under his flesh and isn't going away._

* * *

_**Kneel in silence, alone  
My spirit bares me  
Pray for guidance, towards home  
In darkest hours**_

Heaven lay in siege. At war.

Angel fighting angel, brother fighting brother. Never before had such devastation existed in the holy realm of thrones. The universe shuddered at the wreckage, at the havoc wrought across galaxies. The sun vanished behind cloudbanks, behind the storm and the fire and the quaking of the earth.

Creatures so twisted and foul breached Heaven's gates, and a battle that shook the skies waged fierce. In the distance, on the highest mountain, fought Lucifer and his brother Michael. The hearts of the angels were broken, stunned, but it was the will of Heaven that they fight their rebel brothers and sisters, and all that stood with them.

It was more than purely the Fallen whom declared anarchy alongside the Morning Star, because Lucifer had created something so terrible, so truly vile, and it was a weapon that no member of the Host had expected. Lucifer had corrupted humans, nephilims, into something unrecognizable. Something horrifying.

Demons invaded Heaven's reach, casting shadows where once only light had dwelled.

Garrisons fought garrisons, killed and struck down their own. Fledglings were torn out of training and thrust into battle. Across the violent skies and tempestuous rain, individual constellations of grace fell rapidly, cut down in deafening blast waves that shot across the valleys and blinded the earth below. Black souls were snuffed out in bursts of hellfire and the choking stench of sulfur.

The skies above and gorges below became a graveyard to the dead.

_**Kneel down in silence  
Empires of faith unravel  
Alone, kingdoms falling  
Whose hand commands this thunder  
Cry as we're torn asunder  
Protect us in our final hour**_

One of Heaven's youngest, so new to battle and it so foreign to him, is left to fend among the many raiders. His garrison is the most respected and also the strongest, but his first breath was drawn not so long ago. He makes no complaint, fighting through an exceptionally nasty horde with courage and resolution in his heart. The holy steel of his sword slices through flesh and bone, claiming both tainted grace and polluted souls alike.

_Father?_ he calls out in his thoughts, hoping to hear a reply that never comes.

When the deaths under his belt have reached an alarming level, he spreads his wings and leaps into the air, pounding at the sky to reach his garrison.

His name is Castiel. His purpose of creation was to be a messenger, a guide, and he is not even a decade old. A fledgling, and he is amid slaughter and mayhem he was never meant to see.

Just as he reaches the pinnacle of his ascent, something tears him out of the sky, slamming into him and sending him veering off course. Castiel banks hard, onyx feathers ripping loose. He tucks a shoulder as the jagged earth comes rushing at him and he feels the impact jar every one of his opalescent bones. Something internal tears and snaps—he heals it with barely a thought, feeling the sinews of muscle mend themselves as he rises.

_**Fall away, my soul wandered**__**  
**__**Borne by grace**__**  
**__**I flew on high, sheltered from this thunder**__**  
**__**Calling heaven**_

The shock of black hair contrasts eyes bluer than Heaven's mightiest sea, leveled like arrows against the creature responsible for his fall. A demon, female. She is a disaster of lithe limbs and fluid motion—deceitful, even through movement. Her form beckons yet repels all at once. He can see the mark of her soul, unrecognizable to most. But he discerns the pattern of thorns of what lies dormant beneath.

He has heard of this one.

"Daughter of Azazel."

A splinter of white cuts through the hailing winds and pouring rain like the bite of a diamond, rows of sharp teeth revealed in a smile. It is a challenge to the gravelly threat of his voice.

"I have many names, servant of Heaven," says the demon. "Oh, and yes—I was born, but you… you shall serve until there is nothing left of the earth but ash. Who among us, therefore, is the tragedy, little fledgling?"

Something stirs inside him. Something foreign and inexplicably _wrong_. Wrong, because he fears he may enjoy the rush of it, washing over his skin.

He shakes the thought away, lifting his sword. "You _will_ regret ever coming here, dark thing."

_**Take me away from time and season**__**  
**__**Far, far away we'll sing with reason**__**  
**__**Prepare a throne of stars above me**__**  
**__**As the world once known will leave me**_

_**Take me away upon a plateau**__**  
**__**Far, far away from fears and shadow**__**  
**__**Strengthen my heart in times of sorrow**__**  
**__**Light the way to bright tomorrows**_

Castiel is armor and light, righteousness and justice and conviction so bright it nearly blinds her. The demon is leather and thorns and eyes as bottomless and black as he's ever seen, slick like an oil stain.

They fight.

They fight, and she is a cloud of smoke, constantly in motion, charred skin and long layers of undulating hair whipping around them as they move, darker than the color of earth after a storm. Castiel travels like mist through the raindrops, quick like an eddy of light. Every attack is punctuated by the roar of thunder. There is a calm about him, even as he fights. But there is also determination, steadfast resolve. He will die if it means defending Heaven.

His brothers. His Father.

These are aspects of the angel that equally disgust and impress her. Her impression of him is constantly changing, even as their conflict shifts. It is a constant deluge of brutal blows, light and smoke being rent away with each strike. Weapons of steel and of true form collide. The firelight illuminates their otherwise graying faces amid the rush of hail, earth and rock and saltwater sent spraying. Bodies are hurled against cliff faces and lava pools where Heaven and Hell have merged. Light dies and flares up again, resolute but struggling against a losing fight. The angel's massive wings arc and cut through the air, a source of balance and advantage. They slice through her smoke, the plumes becoming dirtied and ashen.

She would like to dirty him some more.

Even sworn as her true and only enemy in this moment, he is a creature of incredible beauty. Terrifying and magnificent. Her smoke leeching off him only intensifies that splendor, in her eyes. She distracts him with diversion tactics, casting the throes of nightmares at him. He fends them off easily enough, but the effort slows him.

Seizing an opening, the demon strikes. She leaps onto the larger creature's back, sharp claws digging through the chainmail adorning his throat. Her dark flesh singes and smokes when it comes against the grace infused there, but still she carves, nails biting into the glistening translucent flesh she finds there.

Twisting away, throwing the demon from his back, he hurls sigils at her, tongue forming foreign words faster than she can counter them. The Enochian slams into her, grinding her desiccated bones and setting her flesh afire. She screeches a counter cry, teeth flashing again and twin daggers catching the light in either hand. They are adorned with sigils and poisonous magicks of her own. She is the fastest among the dark children, but Castiel, it appears, is faster.

Even as her knives tear into him—never deep enough to cause any real harm—he never relents. Even when she crushes a plate of armor on his wrist with mental fingers and he rears back, he uses the misfortune to his advantage and delivers a lightning strike of grace at her that sends her sprawling.

The fire licks at her skin. She will come to know his fire well.

_**Answer our call in desperate hours**__**  
**__**Shelter our fall from earthly powers**__**  
**__**Temper our souls with flame and furnace**__**  
**__**Bear us toward a noble purpose**_

He is a soldier, but a careful strategist too. Everything she hurls at him, psychic or physical, is averted and countered. She is a powerful evil and he is of the youngest ranks of angels and he should be dead already.

But he fights like he was born to.

She'd think him the makings of an archangel if he weren't so obviously not. Were it a millennia from now, the demon knows she would be nothing more than a pile a sulfur at his feet, already forgotten. But they are in the present and this youngling is the strongest of heart she has seen yet. It throws her, and that alone is such a rarity that she is temporarily speechless.

There is ash falling around them like flakes of snow as they face off—and anyone could mistake it for a wintry morning if it weren't for the carnage taking place.

_**Heaven hides nothing in its measure**__**  
**__**Mortal men blinded by false treasure**__**  
**__**Formless and vanquished we shall travel**__**  
**__**Shield and sword will guide our battle**_

"What are you?" her sultry voice, made tremulous in her uncertainty, demands of him. She stands as tall as she is able, which is still so much smaller than he. Her chest heaves with exhaustion, tendrils of smoke hanging low and dying around her. "You are no guardian."

She had seen the branding on the wrist of his true form with the armor ripped away. The mark of light scribed into the symbol of the guardians and messengers of old. But he is different, and it confounds her. There is something new and alien about him that has her instantly on guard in a way she never thought she'd need to be.

He looks affronted by her suspicion. "To be a shield is my birthright," Castiel growls back. He's thrown because she has questions and a genuine desire to have them answered.

The demon shakes her head slow, black eyes combing him over. "No, but you are more than that," she says quietly, almost reverently. She is curious now, and will not let it go. "There is an ember of something more inside you, angel. Something _else_, but it is not of light." That smile again, sharp and venomous and promising a thousand dark things. "I taste destiny on your skin. You are to be something mighty… something so very fierce." She laughs, cackling at the sky with the wind howling around her. "You, oh you, little angel, have a very long ways to fall. Ohhh…" she says, looking at him then, with something almost akin to admiration. "Oh, but I love it when you glow. Yes—go on. Go on and serve, whilst I and mine rain terror on your Home. _My_ father will be the one to ascend when the dawn rises."

There had been an almost poignant pain to her laughter before, where there now was gritty acceptance. The demon is as hollow as the shattered husk she's become, and this is where her loyalties have led her. Something strange happens then. Something too remarkable to name.

"Fight with us."

The demon will never know what possessed her to say this. Won't for many millennia to come.

Castiel feels something roil unpleasantly in the pit of his gut. Her words incite something in him, something indeed fierce, and he is on her within moments. His eyes glow like dual stars and he is the embodiment of wrath as his fingers close in a stranglehold against her throat. Fingers a steel all their own curve upward along her jaw, branding the mark of his hand into her flesh. "I may be a servant, Asenath," he snarls at her, rage making him thrum with power, barely checked. "But you will always be a slave."

Castiel doesn't know how he knows her true name, and thinks he might never know. She has brought out something in him, a passion he cannot wrap his head around. She is a demon, a simple creature of darkness, but he has failed to decipher her. Yet… he thinks that maybe she is different, too. He cannot name it.

Her claws grip into him, and she is pouring fire and hatred and conviction right back at him. "You will mark my words, I know it. But you shall heed them as well. We will meet again, little seraph," she vows around a hiss. Even still… now it is her turn to waver. Despite the anger in her words, something within her pauses. She looks on him with new respect, with something almost like… hope.

She serves because she must. This brave angel, and brave he is, serves because it is in his desire to do so. Such a peculiar thing. She smiles when he glows hotter, his light burning her skin with searing heat. She revels in it, because he could destroy her with a glance. Yet here he is, drawing it out.

For the first time in his existence, Castiel gives in to the dark satisfaction eating at the corners of his vision. He relishes his supremacy and makes it known. His voice, like slate over crushed gravel, tells her, "_I look forward to it_."

She has a final thought—that perhaps there is more to the cause she has given herself to. Perhaps _she_ is more than just smoke and thorns, because one insignificant little angel saw her when no one else was looking.

And then he is banishing her, shouting the command with such authority that all of Heaven takes notice.

"_OL OIAD MALPIRG!_"

The demon Asenath is sent back to Perdition with a scream and eruption of smoke. Castiel returns to his brothers to fight at their side, summoning every vestige of grace he has to force out the memory of that one demon who promised him dark mysteries he cannot account for. He pushes the thought of her from his mind, but knows, deep within himself, that they will indeed meet again.

More troubling, he wonders to himself why he did not kill her.

He is left with one small comfort, even as his family tears itself apart before his eyes.

The demon was wrong. At least where it mattered most.

* * *

_**Salvation comes in desperate hours**__**  
**__**Angels on high proclaim these powers**__**  
**__**Lead us from chaos we shall follow**__**  
**__**Bear us to a bright tomorrow**_

Sometimes, you must fight the ones you love, in order to save them. This is something he will learn from the Righteous Man.

Meg, for all her faults, knows this is the truth.

_Her fingers clutch at the folds of his trenchcoat like it's a lifeline. A shudder runs through her. Meg exhales sharply, around a failing gasp. "Cas…" _

_He lowers them to the ground until he's on his knees and she is spread across his lap, in his arms. "I've got you. It's all right." _

Castiel's touch still burns, still taints her, even thousands of years later. Even now, as he fights her across woodland terrain, over hills and through mud, desperate to rip that abomination out of her. Even if it means committing the worst possible act he can think of.

_The words are spilling out before he can stop them. "I need you to stay with me."_

Even if it means destroying her.

_Meg looks at him like she so badly wishes she could make him smile right then. "That's not how it's gonna work out this time, feathers."_

Her, the only thing he's ever loved—like a hurricane loves the chaos.

No one can see the mark of his hand on her but them. He'd gripped her tight eons before, and he'd freed her from the darkness.

Castiel saved.

_He listens when she tells him about the last few years. About when she was human. She tells him how her feelings for him have evolved over time, from seething hatred to what it is now. Unbidden, Castiel wipes the tears from her face, cradling her precious weight against himself. His hand grazes her forehead in a gentle caress as she retells the story of how he has changed her. How he gave her back something she never thought she'd have again. _

Because even while he'd stumbled, _fallen_, became corrupted in so many ways and so many times… he would always be a shield to those he loved.

He was a guardian.

His purpose, his reason for creation, was to protect, and always would be.

_There is a soft flash of light that illuminates the shadow of the forest, formed by the canopy of treetops above their heads. Castiel's hand slips from her forehead as peaceful death washes over the demon in his arms. With unsteady fingers, he grips her tighter. Castiel squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his face against her hair as the tears roll silently down his cheeks. _

No longer forced to serve because of what was in her blood, because of the thing she was. No longer a slave to her sins, to her father, to Hell.

_Pieces of his heart shift like fine dust in his chest. The storm that has been raging in his darkening eyes breaks loose and the flood gates open to the torrent of alien emotion pouring out of him as Castiel begins to sob._

All because of her guardian angel.

Even in death, Meg would forever be grateful for that. Grateful to him, for proving her so very wrong.

* * *

_**Earthly prophet, break free  
Dreamless, hoping, set wings to fly  
Oh, lost seekers  
Forget all the values of past eras  
Oh, lost dreamers  
Find hope in the valley of promise**_

Asenath, first nephilim of the earth, daughter of Azazel, daughter of a human mother, was born on a Thursday morning, long ago. She was assigned a guardian angel, the bond forged never willing to break, even as she tore into her first soul in the fires of Perdition. Even as she became the monster her guardian was created to defeat.

Castiel, from the moment the girl was born, was foretold to protect her. But most regrettably, he also was destined to destroy her. It was in this destruction that he would free her, thereby granting her the salvation she had been denied. She was never meant for damnation, just as he was never meant for humanity. Even still, in the wake of everything… it was always going to be the both of them who fell.

_**Earthly angel  
Hold me, forget  
Angel terreste (Earthly angel)  
Tiens-moi, regrette (Hold me, sorry)**_

_**Forever free  
Olam vaed (For all the world eternal)  
Eternal vie (Eternal life)  
Olam vaed (For all the world eternal)**_

_**Faith is found**_

* * *

**Author's Note: **Leave your hate or love in the little box and watch me do a cartwheel!


End file.
